


Stalker's Tango

by Keeboyo



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keeboyo/pseuds/Keeboyo
Summary: "He would finally be able to add the most prized possession of all to his collection. He would have Ouma to himself, finally. Nobody could steal him away anymore."Shuichi Saihara has an unhealthy obsession with his fellow classmate Kokichi Ouma. He'll do anything to be his his beloved forever no matter the cost.(Pregame)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 59





	Stalker's Tango

**Author's Note:**

> Major trigger warning so please read the tags!! This was an assignment for my English class so sorry for any forced symbolism. The little beat up section is a part of a vent drabble I did a while back so sorry if it's a little rough there.

It was dead silent all throughout the house, just a faint shuffling noise coming from the upstairs bedroom. The window was slightly ajar, a chilling breeze blew throughout the already icey room. The dim moonlight was just enough to make out some of the objects in the room. A familiar ivory colored dresser, deep purple walls, and a simple grey bed were all placed meticulously around the room. A highschool boy gingerly tugged open one of the drawers and took out a pair of boxers which he then stuffed into his jacket pocket. “Maybe I should do this with my room too.” He thought to himself as his gaze swept across the room before settling on an occupied bed. The carpeted floor muffling any hints of footsteps, the highschool boy approached the bed. His gaze was fixated on the pale skin of the occupant of the bed; the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping boy’s chest enamored the intruder who was all too familiar with it. He raised a polaroid camera and snapped a picture of him, of his beloved. He leaned over the sleeping boy and breathed in deeply, the sweet smell of grape colored hair filling the boy’s senses. An unhinged smile spread across the boys face as he backed away slowly, still intensely studying the object of his deep rooted obsession. No sooner than he had arrived, the intruder slipped out of the window without another word.

Sunlight streamed into the raven haired boy’s room, illuminating piles of unkempt clothes, a few dirty cups and bowls along with a slightly ajar closet door. He opened his eyes with a yawn; he rolled over to his side as he grabbed his phone to turn it on. The boy gazed lovingly at his lock screen while indecent thoughts filled his imagination. It was a picture of a 5’7” boy with a dark grey hat on, and short black hair. He was wearing a black blazer-styled casual uniform with a white button down shirt underneath the black jacket with a striped blue tie. Next to that boy, was an equally pale person who was only around 5’1”. His hair was moderately long, wavy purplish black with the tips subtly dyed a brighter purple. The two were laughing, the taller boy’s magenta eyes bore into the other which made the photo unnerving to most. The boy turned off his phone and got out of bed, he couldn’t wait to go walk him to school.

A half hour ticked by, the clock on the stove read, “6:47.” The boy knew that his beloved would be leaving his house at this time to start walking to school. The boy picked up his polaroid camera, then slipped it into his school bag. The door closed gently behind him as he set out towards the other’s house.

It was autumn, a mild wind was blowing, evident by the leaves swirling around in the air and the chill running up the raven haired boy’s back. The morning sun was rising, purples and blues danced along the sky. He was on the opposite side of the street, his hat pulled down to obscure his eyes as he stared at another boy across the road. It’s been half an hour since they both started walking, the boy reached his hand into his bag, rummaging around for the clunky polaroid camera which he held so dearly. He raised the camera up and snapped a picture of the purple haired boy across from him. The snap of the camera was louder than expected, the other boy turned towards him as he pulled out the photo and stuffed the camera back into the bag. The other’s eyes widened as he took off down the street running.

“Damn it!” He swore to himself quietly as he watched his beloved run down the street towards the school.

Saihara walked into the school, a blast of warm air hit him as he walked toward that boy’s homeroom. He strolled down the hallway, shaking the polaroid that will soon be added to the collection. The oak door creaked open as Saihara entered the classroom, only five kids were there. Saihara’s gaze immediately snapped towards the corner of the room where he was sitting. A taller boy was leaning over his beloved’s desk, laughing obnoxiously loud. Saihara rolled his eyes and walked up to the desk, grinning as he got closer and closer to him.

“Well Ouma? You better be coming tonight; Iruma’s gonna be there to wreak havoc on the booze cabinet!”

“For the last time, Momota, I’m not comfortable at parties. They just aren't my thing." Ouma sighed and rested his head on his hand. 

Momota looked over at Saihara, who was approaching the desk with a smile creeping onto his face. "Uh dude, can I help you?" Momota said.

Ouma looked up and caught Saihara's gaze. Immediately, sweat began to drip from Ouma’s forehead; those magenta eyes froze him to his seat. Kokichi Ouma, feeling on edge and extremely non confrontational, couldn’t work up the nerve to confront Shuichi Saihara and confirm whether or not it was Saihara who took his picture this morning.

Saihara ignored Momota and leaned up against the desk, bringing himself even closer to Ouma. "Do you wanna come to my house today? It'll give you an excuse to ditch the party."

To Ouma, it felt as if his words were stuck in his throat. His heart raced as he started digging his nails into the palms of his hands, "Oh y-yeah, yeah sure." He cursed himself for being so nervous. “Saihara wasn't the one following me this morning, there was just no way.” He thought to himself. 

“Seriously Ouma? Ditchin’ me for that creep? Not cool bro.” Momota rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Saihara, making him stumble backwards. He shot a glare at Momota that dripped with hostility.

“I told you I don’t like parties.” Ouma replied half heartedly, his mind wandering elsewhere.

Saihara walked back towards Ouma and sat on his desk. Momota slammed his hand down on the desk which made both Ouma and Saihara jump. “The hell you think you’re doin’ Saihara?” 

Saihara looked Momota dead in the eyes, an almost plastic looking smile on his face, “You’re making him uncomfortable, Momota. Why don’t you back off?” 

“Really? I’m the one making him uncomfortable?” Momota raised his voice, “I’m not the fuckin’ creep around here!” 

Ouma’s gaze flickered back and forth between the two, he was taking fast and shallow breaths. The last thing he needed was for trouble to start this early in the morning. Saihara took note of this mentally and didn’t respond to Momota. He leaned in closer to Ouma and said in a soft, innocent tone, “I’ll meet you by the lampost out front; see you later Ouma.” He lingered there for a second before sliding off Ouma’s desk and making his way to his own desk before the teacher came in. 

“Watch your back, creepshow; karma’s gonna catch up to you.” Momota mumbled as he reached his hand into his pocket. He sat back down at his desk as a tiny bit of blood oozed from the hand that was just in his pocket. 

The school day passed by normally, Saihara was too preoccupied with Ouma to pay attention to anything around him.

It was a nice sunny fall day, Saihara was waiting, leaned up against the lampost. He was watching Ouma walk towards him. Finally, he’ll have his beloved in his own house. Saihara couldn’t control his breathing. This was it; Ouma would finally see how dedicated he was to him. Ouma finally approached him, “Thanks for getting me out of that party.” Saihara smiled at Ouma before beginning to lead him down the road. Soon, they approached Saiahra’s dark brick home. 

“We’re here.” Saihara looked down at Ouma who was quite nervous about being here. Saihara led him inside, “Would you like anything to drink” He said while gesturing back towards the kitchen. He had to stop himself from calling Ouma any pet names.

“Ah, just some water will be fine.” He gave a weak smile.

“I’ll take you to my room first, right up the stairs here.” 

“Oh, okay.”

Saihara let Ouma take the lead while walking up the stairs. He pulled out his phone and opened up the camera, he aimed it at Ouma.

Snap. His heart beat faster and faster for every stair they walked up.

Snap. His breath was uneven, he was so happy he could faint right there and then.

Snap. He would finally be able to add the most prized possession of all to his collection. He would have Ouma to himself, finally. Nobody could steal him away anymore. 

As Ouma reached the top of the steps, he began to turn around. Saihara clicked the camera off and pretended to look at something else on his phone. “Oh yeah, I’ll take the lead from here.” He brushed past Ouma, walking towards his own room. Saihara flicked on the light switch and noticed that his drawer was still open from this morning. He rushed over to close it just as Ouma entered the room. “Sorry, it's such a mess; wait here though while I get your water.” Saihara left the room while Ouma only nodded and sat down on the bed. He clicked open his phone to check his messages but there was nothing. He closed the phone and sighed, his gaze wandered over to the drawer that Saihara was so frantic to close. He glanced at the door before moving towards the drawer. He reached out and grabbed onto the handle. Why was he so nervous? He didn’t know. Slowly, he pulled open the drawer and peered inside. A mountain of polaroids laid inside. Ouma immediately felt as if he was going to throw up, he recognized the person on every single one of these photos. He heard footsteps approaching the door, his heart was hammering against his ribs, he felt dizzy. Why are these here? What else does he have? Black spots danced around in his vision. Saihara stood in the doorway; that once innocent looking smile seemed twisted.

“I’m gonna die here; this is it. Oh my god, oh my god; I’m gonna die.” Ouma’s voice quavered, barely audible, sputtering between fast paced breaths.

Without saying a word, Saihara walked toward Ouma, casually set his drink on the dresser, and said, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my love!” He slipped his hand behind the dresser and slowly pulled out a pristine conditioned metal bat which he bought just for this purpose. Ouma quickly scrambles to his feet as he bolted towards the door in an attempt to forcibly push his way past Saihara. The bat connects just below Ouma’s knee with a loud snap. A sharp stab of searing pain flowed from his broken shin throughout his entire body as he crumpled to the ground. He tried to crawl his way out of the bedroom. Saihara leaned over him, rope in hand. “Damn it, just a little too hard,” Saihara muttered. He grabbed both of Ouma’s arms and tied them behind his back. Saihara pulled Ouma close to him and hugged him, “You’ll never leave me ever again, baby!” With that Saihara pressed a piece of duct tape over Ouma’s mouth to stop him from screaming. “Shh, save your voice Kokichi.” He said in a sweet, soothing voice as he ran his fingers through Ouma’s hair. Saihara picked him up and walked over to the closet as if carrying his bride over the threshold. “You’ll be needing it for later.” He layed Ouma in front of his collection of mementos from his dark obsession with Ouma’s life. Saihra walked to his school bag, dug out his camera, and stood directly over Ouma. “Now we can be together forever my love.” Saihara whispered demurially. Ouma heard the sound of the shutter over and over again as he drifted in and out of consciousness due to the excruciating pain throbbing in his leg. After shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Ouma gathered the last remnants of his strength in one final attempt to escape. Dragging his battered leg behind him, he made his way to the door. Ouma caught a glimpse of the camera falling to the ground to the right. He felt a spark of hope as he reached the door. As Ouma passed through the doorway, a crushing pain sent a white hot light behind his eyes just before his world went black.

Three days passed, Saihara was walking through the crowded school hallway, being pushed around by students trying to get past him. He barely paid attention to anything around him though, he kept thinking about the boy tied up in his closet. The bell rang just as the last few students made their way back into their classrooms, Saihara was late, again. He continued walking to his next class, knowing that once he knocked on the door he would get screamed at like usual. The dark haired boy was deep in thought coming up with an excuse when he heard a faint voice calling out to him

"Shuichi!" 

Saihara paid no mind.

"Shuichi! Get over here now" the voice was louder still.

He finally turned around to see Momota running towards him. Saihara's face twisted into a look of terror; he knew what was coming. The purple haired man caught up to the smaller boy and grabbed the front of his shirt. Lifting him up, Momota slammed Saihara into nearby lockers. The metal of the handle uncomfortably dug into his back. 

"I know what you did to Ouma, freakshow!" 

"Wait what do you m-" Saihara tried acting innocent but was quickly cut off.

"Shut it bitch!" 

Momota drove his knee into Saihara's stomach; the smaller boy dropped to the floor, coughing. He clutched his stomach; it burned. Momota bent over and grabbed the collar of Saihara's shirt while dragging him into the janitor's closet nearby. He slammed the door behind him before locking it. Saihara desperately tried to crawl away from Momota, the walls only seemed to close in more and more. Momota gritted his teeth. He picked Saihara up once again with one hand. He drew back his fist and hit Saihara square on the cheek; the skin on his knuckles cracked while blood began to ooze out of Saihara’s face. 

"Please.. sto-"

Again, Momota's fist connected with Saihara's face. 

"You disgustin’ fuckin’ creep. Why are you smiling’?"

A look of crazed joy was plastered on Saihara's bloodied face. Momota was still holding him against the wall before he threw Saihara across the tiny room, Saihara hit the door with a loud slam. The smaller boy laid on the ground, breathing heavily, curled up into a ball. Momota began to kick Saihara.

Over

And Over

And Over again.

Each kick came with a searing pain in Saihara's sides and back. Hot tears streamed down Saihara's face, yet he was still smiling. Momota dug the heel of his shoe into the back of Saihara's head. 

"Don’t expect to ever see Ouma again." Momota said as he kicked Saihara in the head one more time.

Saihara, bloody and beaten, flinched as he heard the door slam shut. He couldn't stop shaking. Everything hurt, and he could barely breathe; however he couldn't stop laughing. Every weak, airy wheeze made his lungs burn. Saihara knew he deserved this; he knew he got what he had coming to him.

Saihara's laughter died down, and he weakly coughed. A few drops of blood splattered onto the floor. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his left side where Momota kicked him. Saihara's head hurt; he wanted out. The overwhelming, metallic taste of blood in his mouth made him nauseous. He weakly reached up to the doorknob, trying to open it to escape the cramped space that was the janitor's closet. He gripped the knob and pulled it down while he tried to push the door open.

Locked.

Panic rose up inside Shuichi; he couldn't catch his breath. 

"I'm going to die here," Saihara thought to himself. 

The pain tore through every inch of his body. His ribs screamed with each labored breath. Every move sent a fresh wave of pain throughout his entire body. Each breath became more difficult than the last until he could no longer draw in the air he desperately needed. He was suffocating, gasping for air over and over again. Saihara's head was spinning; he couldn't focus. He needed to breathe, but he couldn’t. The entire room seemed to close in on him from all sides. Black spots crept up into Saihara’s vision as his breaths became quicker, but more shallow. 

“How could this happen to me!” was his final thought as the blackness took him. Saihara's head hit the cold unforgiving tile with a sickening thud. Time marched on. Minutes? Hours? The small boy lay still in the cold darkness of the closet.

Ouma was still tied to the chair, head hanging after passing out due to hyperventilation. A sharp sound shattered the utter silence and Ouma woke with a start. He struggled to keep himself from shaking, tears streamed down his face. Terror filled him as he imagined what lie ahead for him. He choked back a sob.

The closet door whipped open, light flooded the small space temporarily blinding Ouma. He could only make out a silhouette of a person, taller than Saihara with wild gelled up hair. Ouma blinked a few times, adjusting to the new rush of light. Tears filled his eyes as a bound and gagged Ouma struggled to call out Momota’s name, it just had to be him.

“I got you buddy.” He stepped towards Ouma and produced a small switchblade out of his pocket. He kneeled down next to Ouma and began slicing off the ropes that bound him. He quickly ripped off the tape covering Ouma’s mouth. The tears that still streamed down Ouma's face were now tears of joy. He needed to get out as soon as possible. He tried standing before falling to the ground once more; pain shot up through his leg where Saihara had hit him. Momota easily picked him up and made his way over to the shattered window. “Hold on.” He said before laying Ouma over his shoulder. Momota climbed through the window and dropped down onto a section of the roof that stuck out beneath him. He eased his body over the ledge with Ouma still draped over his shoulder. Hanging from the ledge, he instructed Ouma to climb his body to his feet before dropping down. Once Ouma was on the ground safely, Momota skillfully dropped down from the roof as well. He gently picked up Ouma and rushed him back to the school. After about a half hour of jogging, Momota made it to the second floor of the school and stopped in front of a door. He picked the lock expertly with one hand and gestured for Ouma to open the door. 

They found Saihara barely conscious on the ground; his breathing was shallow and slow. He was clutching his camera near his chest. He looked up at Ouma, everything was spinning, he felt consciousness slowly slipping away. Saihara saw a twisted silhouette of who he assumed was Momota handing a small object to Ouma. He couldn’t see what it was, but he caught a brief glint of light reflecting off what looked to be a metal surface. Ouma approached Saihara, and kneeled down next to him. Ouma studied the handle of the object. In his fleeting consciousness, Saihara could barely make out what looked to be an intricate carving of a beautiful little butterfly. His breath caught in his throat as he braced himself for what was to come next. His ears still ringing; he could not make out whatever Momota softly whispered to Ouma. Ouma raised the now visible metal blade into the air and bit into Saihara’s soft flesh. The pain was exquisite, but brief as it pierced his neck. Saihara coughed and sputtered crimson blood. He smiled widely and he tried to speak with blood staining his teeth, “I almost had you, didn’t I?” He struggled to take in one last breath only to find that it was no longer possible. He imagined his beloved’s sweet, perfect smile in the last instance before the darkness overtook him. In his last fading moments, Saihara didn’t regret a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Aand then Ouma goes to therapy while Momota doesnt get arrested cause it was self defense 😎


End file.
